


Nothing but Glad

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway meets DC Alex Gray from the episode Rambling Boy, and they hit it off. They drink a lot of whiskey, smoke a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing but Glad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/gifts).



> For Glim, obviously, because you know, Lewis. I will one day write you Lewis/Hathaway, I re-watched the s7 finale and there are some really shippy moments, so. I totally ship it. But, this is self indulgent DC Alex Gray fic because he was cute and awesome.
> 
> WARNING: child death and suicide come up in cases they talk about

Lewis invites his temp DC to have a drink, on Friday. James is confused by this, but decides to just roll with it. Like the sudden thing with Hobson, and Innocent drinking with them. It’s almost a party. It sends James out onto the terrace, in the rain, with a cigarette. They’ve come up to the Trout, venturing to Wolvercote because Innocent lives this way, and because Lewis is in a good mood because of Hobson. James doesn’t mind, he likes the pub, and he likes that it’s raining so there’s a big space for him to escape to. There are umbrellas and heaters, and a few adventurous souls are drinking out here. Most are also smoking. James lights his own fag and leans, looking out over the water. When he feels someone join him, he assumes Lewis, coming for a nag about the cigarette.  

 

“I know it will kill me, but it matches my melancholic aesthetic. Can’t you tell? The noir detective, leaning, contemplating, drinking and smoking to oblivion?” James says, not turning. 

 

“Uh, yes, sir.”

 

James turns then, in surprise, and drops the fag into the river by accident. Lewis’s temp DC is stood there, looking apologetic. He holds up his own cigarette, then hands it to James, pulling out a packet and taking another. He looks around and pats his pockets, then looks at James again. James pulls his lighter and they’re silent as they light up, and then again as the DC takes a long drag before slumping on the railing with a sigh. 

 

“Bit of a habit?” James asks, amused. 

 

“God yeah. Your governor’s great, but he never does think of it. Alex,” the DC says, holding out the hand empty of a cigarette. 

 

It takes James a while to realise the man’s offering a name and introduction. He hastily takes the hand when he does catch on. 

 

“James,” he says. “Um, DS Hathaway. Most people call me Hathaway. Except Laura Hobson, and the chief. The chief calls me James. Actually, it’s mostly Lewis who calls me Hathaway, now I think of it.”

 

“It’s a very good name,” Lewis calls, from the door. “We’re getting in another round. Should be your turn,  _ James,  _ but I’ll get it. You boys coming in? Or are you gonna just smother your lungs?”

 

“Smother our lungs!” They call back together, then laugh at their synchronicity. 

 

“If you’re Alex, I’ll be James,” James decides. “It is most definitely not my round, by the way. He owes me a week’s worth of getting my rounds in, after ruining my holiday.”

 

“Ah, sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t be, it wasn’t much fun, to be honest. Don’t tell him that. Though I presume he probably guesses,” James says. 

 

He turns back to the river, and Alex joins him in his contemplation. It’s a bit rough, with the weather, and there’s something soothing about it. James looks up at Alex, and is soothed by him, too. Earlier when James met him, he’d been restless and a bit nervy, but now, out here, with his cigarette craving dulled, he’s relaxed and easy. He’s as tall as James is, but broader. He smiles, and James starts, shaking himself, realising he’s been contemplating too much, and landed on ‘beautiful’. He hastily finishes his cigarette and gestures inside with a jerk of the head. Alex nods and follows, hands in his pockets. They sit side by side, back at their table, and Lewis smiles at them. Hobson and Innocent are talking, and Lewis looks glad to see them. 

 

“They’re arguing about something morgue-like,” Lewis says, leaning over the table, pushing two pints their way. “I dunno. No shop talk at the pub.”

 

James snorts, and Lewis grins at him with a shrug. The pint goes down better, with the cigarette and the quiet. And, if James is honest, with Alex between himself and the room. James sighs, aware that his comfort in the other man is not a good thing. He doesn’t consider himself gay, he’s never lustfully overwhelmed by men. Nor is he lustfully overwhelmed by women, but he’s more likely to want to sleep with them. He does find himself with these connections to men, though, that some might call crushes. James doesn’t really care to label things. Maybe he’s gay, or bi, or something. It’s no one’s business. Especially not Lewis’s, which means- oporation obfuscation.

 

“You two get acquainted?” Lewis asks. 

 

“DC Gray,” James says, scrambling for the name in his head and hoping it’s right, “was telling me about the case. We were commiserating.”

 

“Uh, sir,” Alex says, shifting uncomfortably. 

 

“He’s just teasing,” Lewis assures, a little impatiently. “I thought that fag’d set you straight, but you’re still jumping about like a cricket.”

 

“Lewis, he’s sat with half the senior officers in the station,” James reminds, laughing. “Remember being a constable? What’d you have felt, sitting with Morse and that lot?”

 

“Old Fred Thursday,” Lewis says, smiling. “Used to intimidate me all the way up and down. Daft old sod, he was fond of Morse.”

 

“You’d have been jumping like a cricket, if Morse had taken you drinking with him and the chief,” James points out. 

 

“Well, you win, alright,” Lewis says, with a shrug. “You did get acquainted, didn’t you?”

 

“You forget, I was a constable much more recently than you,” James says. “Us juniors have to stand up against you seniors.”

 

“Hardly junior anymore,” Lewis says. 

 

“No. But compared to  _ you _ …” James says. “Sir, speaking of standing up to senior officers, it isn’t my round. It won’t be my round for a long time.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I was enjoying that holiday.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“There were nice people, and sunshine. Kids to play with, things to do.”

 

“And now you’re going to get a free pint or eight out of it, are you?” 

 

“Exactly.”

 

“You’re not even half through that one!”

 

“Soon will be.”

 

Lewis laughs, and reaches over the table for the empties by Hobson and Innocent, getting up for another bar run. He gives James’s shoulder a squeeze on the way past, and James forgets Alex for a moment in favour of feeling fond of Lewis. 

 

“I’m bursting for a piss,” Alex whispers, then, reminding James of his presence.

 

James bursts out laughing, pointing him in the direction of the loos. It’s an easy night. They talk shop, all of them, and he and Lewis bicker about literature, and Alex eventually relaxes enough to join in and admit he’s actually read the bible, which gets them onto scripture, which James tries to sidetrack. Innocent does it by heading off, and they all follow her out into the night. The rain’s let up, and Alex lights a cigarette as soon as they’re out, offering the pack to James. 

 

“Christ, you two are addicts. I’m leaving you to it, I have no responsibility for it,” Lewis says, taking Hobson’s hand and leading her to the car, waving. 

 

“Bye James,” Hobson calls, smiling back at them. “Alex.”

 

“Where does she get our names?” Alex asks, grinning. “Can I get a light again?”

James offers the lighter, turning down the cigarette. He looks around, wondering where Alex is parked. Alex hands the lighter back, and they stand in awkward silence a minute or two. 

 

“Well, I’d better be off,” Alex says, nodding his head towards the road.

 

“Where are you parked?”

 

“Um, I got the bus out,” Alex says. 

 

James feels a flush creeping up his neck at his mis-assumption. He always feels awkward about those things, as if he’s got advantages. He does, he knows he does, but not in this way. When he was a constable he’d have got the bus, too. And his DS would’ve offered him a lift. Right. 

 

“Where are you headed? I can at least drop you at a bus stop,” James says, heading for his car so that Alex can’t say no. “No smoking in the car, but I’ll let you finish that one. Lewis rides in the car, and he gets righteous if he can smell it.”

 

“It’s fine, sir.”

 

“Where are you headed?” James repeats, leaning on the car, smiling at Alex. 

 

“Cowley. Marsh Road?”

 

“I’m headed that way, I’ll drop you home. No trouble. I live off Iffley, opposite Donnington Bridge road, you’re basically on my way,” James says. 

 

“Oh. Then thanks, sir. Wouldn’t mind, to be honest. Two busses, or a fuck of a walk. Uh, excuse me.”

 

“Go ahead, I’m not your superior. If we ever work together I’ll be sure to remember your bad habits, but otherwise you’re safe.”

 

They lean companionably while Alex finishes the fag and flicks the end toward a bin, then they head home. The drive is quiet, for a Friday night. It’s not late enough to be busy yet, except on the Cowley Road which is it’s usual chaos. Alex gasps and yells and clings to the dash, and James laughs at him most of the way. He manages not to hit anyone, even the daft cyclists with no lights. 

 

“Sorry, sir, I hate the Cowley Road. I’m used to the bus, which seems to not care and goes out of it’s way to squash cyclists,” Alex says. 

 

“Do you cycle?”

 

“Hmm, no, not on the Cowley Road.”

 

James laughs again, but gives Alex’s arm a squeeze at the lights. Marsh Road is silent, when they reach it. James drives about halfway up, to one of the smaller houses. He pulls onto the drive as directed. All the lights are out. 

 

“My flatmates’ll be out, do you want to come in for coffee and a smoke?” Alex offers. 

 

“I don’t think drinking coffee this late… perhaps a nightcap,” James says. 

 

They drink whiskey, out on a patio, from mugs. James’s is a Harry Potter mug. At the bottom, there’s a painting of tea leaves forming the grim. He teases Alex about it, but Alex just grins and maintains that Harry Potter is high art until James snatches a cigarette from him and gulps down the whiskey. Alex laughs at  _ him _ , then, looking pleased with himself. 

 

“Fine, you got me,” James says. “I like it, anyway. The books at least.”

 

“Yeah, it makes me laugh. I read it, growing up. I’m the right age, you know? Grew up with those kids,” Alex says. 

 

“Well now I feel ancient thank you very much. How old are you?”

 

“Twenty six.”

 

“Christ, I’m nearly a decade older than you.”

 

“I’m thirty,” Alex says, grinning again. 

 

“I hate you,” James says, fervently, taking another sip of mug-whiskey. 

 

“Okay. I’m gonna do something that’ll probably send you off, now. I’m gonna ask if you think I did okay, for Lewis?”

 

“How long have you been holding that in?” James grumbles, turning his mug in his hands. His fag’s done, so he gets another, one of his own this time. He offers the pack to Alex, who takes one. He grimaces at James, when they’re lit. 

 

“A while,” Alex says. “Thought it’d be better I said it out, than let it run around and around.”

 

“Mm. Alright. I think you probably did okay. He hasn’t really said much, but that’s a good thing. You volunteered, Innocent said?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Why?”

 

“How long have  _ you _ been wondering  _ that _ ?” Alex says. 

 

“About since I heard you did it,” James admits. “No one volunteers to work with Lewis. He’s annoying. He’s demanding.”

 

“Looks good on my CV, to work with the top DCI, doesn’t it?”

 

“I suppose, maybe, if you’re going for internal promotion and he backs you when they ask. And they will ask.”

 

“I just wanted to work with him,” Alex says. 

 

James accepts that. He supposes it sounds legit. That might just be the whiskey on top of two pints, though. They keep on drinking whiskey until the half-bottle Alex had is empty, and they’re both drunk, James leaning on Alex’s shoulder. 

 

“I owe him,” Alex says, softly, fingers rubbing behind James’s ear. “I owe Robbie Lewis a lot.”

 

“How?”

 

“He doesn’t remember me, I was just another kid. But he was… I think maybe he was having a good day, or missing his kid, I don’t know. He just sat down and talked to me, about stuff that wasn’t… to do with… that.”

 

“Beautifully talked around,” James compliments. “I get the gist, but not the specifics, which I guess was the point.”

 

He gives Alex a congratulatory punch. 

 

“Ow. Not really the point, no. I just got in a bit of trouble once too often, and the cops were round to talk to my Dad, and my Dad wasn’t happy having the cops around,” Alex says. “It just sounds like, you know, a stereotype. When I say it.”

 

“Mm. You should see where I grew up,” James says. “Posh house, Cambridge, seminary, big gay freak out. Though not entirely mine.”

 

Alex is silent. James looks up at him, and finds him blinking, surprise and confusion making his face funny, and sweet, and cute. Then he laughs, hand cradling James’s chin, and James grins. Then James kisses him. 

 

*

 

Oops, he thinks, when he wakes up. He turns over, wondering where he is, and relieved to find it’s a blow up mattress on a bedroom floor. He rolls the other way, and spots a bed. An arm. Snoring. Well, he hears the snoring. He levers himself up onto his elbows. Alex is asleep, face smushed into a pillow. He looks about the twenty six he claimed for himself last night, or younger. James gets up and goes to take a shower in defence of Alex’s face. He has no change of clothes, but he finds a clean towel on a shelf in the bedroom, along with shower gel, so the going’s not too bad. And he has today off, which is excellent. He gives his clothes a shake and hangs them up to steam while he showers, putting it on hot as he can stand and sweltering in it for a bit. He feels almost fresh, after the shower, and rinsing his mouth with mouthwash and water. His clothes are a little damp, but not too wrinkled. No more wrinkled than when he crashes on his sofa at home, anyway. Alex is awake, when he gets back, sat up and blinking at the empty air mattress. 

 

“Morning,” James says, hanging up the wet towel over the radiator and getting down on his knees, looking for his socks. 

 

“Oh, there you are. Found stuff you needed?” Alex asks, yawning. 

 

“Yes, thanks.”

 

“Coffee. I need coffee. And a fry up. Breakfast?”

 

James hesitates, remembering Alex’s mouth on his, tasting of burnt nicotine, whiskey. Remembering his hands on Alex. Oops. Alex is yawning again, though, and he’s all ruffled. 

 

“Alright,” James says. 

 

“Yeah? Great. Give me a sec and I’ll… want to go out? I haven’t actually got any bacon, or eggs. I think I have ketchup.”

 

James laughs, finds his socks, and watches as Alex staggers around in boxers and a tank, finding jeans and trainers and socks. He grabs his wallet and keys, then they head out. James looks at the car, glances at Alex. 

 

“Headington? Better parking,” James suggests. 

 

“Cowley. Spoons,” Alex says. 

 

Which, fair enough. If you’re going for a fry up, might as well go crap as it comes, which is always Wetherspoons. James takes the car anyway, parking easily for a Saturday, in the retail park. They walk up through the park and cross at the lights with the push chairs and other hungover looking people, then head to the pub. Alex doesn’t really wake up until his third cup of coffee, eating mechanically and nodding to James’s conversation attempts, sometimes offering a syllable or two. 

 

“Better,” Alex says, after his third coffee, leaning back. “Much better. Did you kiss me, last night?”

 

“No?” James suggests, hopefully. Alex raises his eyebrows and makes a face. “Well okay, yeah. I think so.”

 

Alex smiles, widely and genuinely. 

 

“Did you want to maybe do it again?” Alex says. 

 

“No,” James says. Alex grins. “Okay, well, maybe.”

 

“Alright. Take me to dinner, next time we both have an evening off, and you can,” Alex says. 

 

His phone goes, then, and he looks at it, frowning. James knows that frown, and when Alex opens his mouth, James just waves him away. 

 

“Go on, I know the drill. I’ll settle up here, you can take  _ me _ to dinner, in return,” James says. 

 

“Right. Ta. Oh, numbers. Bugger,” Alex says, looking around. 

 

He ends up scribbling his number on James’s hand, then jogging off. The police station’s just across the road, really, so he at least hasn’t got far to go. James finishes his breakfast off, then Alex’s, then sits back and ponders the fact that he’s being taken out for dinner, with the thought of it ending with kisses. He isn’t averse to the idea, after all. Alex doesn’t seem to the sort to be bothered by James overthinking things. That’s good. The drinking and smoking won’t be an issue either, clearly. The Seminary Secret is already out, thanks to the whiskey last night, and the gay thing isn’t going to be a problem. Also obviously. James is sure he’ll find something to worry about. But not yet. Now, he wants another cup of coffee, and then he wants to head home and sleep. Preferably for the rest of the weekend. 

  
  


*

 

“I’m not going to be able to introduce you, at work,” James says. 

 

It’s late. He’s at Alex’s, lying on Alex’s bed, in his underwear. Alex is rubbing his back, which is really nice even though he’s doing a half-arsed job, and has paper spread over James’s shoulders, studying for his seargeants. 

 

“Sure, I don’t plan on being out at work either,” Alex says. “I’m not hiding it, per se, just not really part of my job, is it?”

 

“To be gay? They rarely put it on the application for, no. Probably won’t even come up in your exam,” James says. “Do you know what I did, today?”

 

“Boring seminar?”

 

“That. But also, I told Lewis how to cook a chicken, over the phone,” James says. 

 

“How do you cook a chicken over a phone?”

 

“Ha ha. Ha,” James says. “How’s it going?”

 

“Nearly done with these. Just lie still a bit longer.”

 

James hums in agreement, willing to play along for the moment. It gets him a kiss on the shoulder and he smiles into the pillow. Alex is turning out to be easy. They’re on the same page about a lot of things, not just about the place of ‘coming out’ at work. Smoking, for one thing. And Lewis. James is happy to tease Lewis, here, because he knows Alex all but worships the ground he walks on. It isn’t going to get around the station as gossip. And dates. Dates are usually sitting drinking somewhere, or grabbing a quick dinner, or like this. Sprawled on Alex’s bed. The windows are German, big and able to open all the way, and sometimes Alex will open it and they’ll smoke. 

 

“Are you staying tonight?” Alex asks, sighing, papers shuffling. “I’m done with this. I’m hungry.”

 

“I’m not making you chicken,” James says. 

 

He does make Alex chicken. He quizzes Alex as it cooks, Alex perched on a stool in the kitchen. James doesn’t regret it, because Alex shuts his eyes and his face scrunches up, his eyes squeezing, trying to recall. His head tilts, he shifts on his stool, his hand bunch and relax as if reaching. It’s hilarious, and sweet. James kisses him, startling him, and Alex nearly falls off the stool. 

 

“Sorry,” James says. “Cute moment.”

 

“I know I pull faces,” Alex says, grimacing. 

 

“You have a lovely face and pull lovely faces,” James says, and moves on to the next question. 

 

He rubs over Alex’s shoulders, enjoying the physicality of him, the strength, the weight of him. Alex goes on searching for answers, then sighs, leaning into James. James hums in question, but Alex just says he’s hungry again. They eat in the bedroom, in kitchen chairs, feet up on the windowsill. When they’re done Alex lights a cigarette, and then another, and another. He smokes five before showering and lying naked on the bed, face down. James follows, stripping to his t-shirt and pants again. They don’t usually cuddle, and James doesn’t change that. He does lie closer to Alex than usual, though, and rests a hand on Alex’s back. He wakes in the middle of the night, and Alex is sat up on the edge of the bed. 

 

“Can’t sleep?” James yawns. 

 

“No, I can, I was. Bad dream,” Alex says, not turning. He sounds breathless. 

 

“One of those naked in exams ones?” James asks, reaching for Alex, wrapping a hand around his hip. Alex isn’t skinny, and his hip’s fairly well covered. He grumbles and pushes at James’s hand, but then leaves it there. 

 

“No, not naked. Exams, though,” Alex says. “Never mind .I woke you?”

 

“Don’t think so. Lie down?”

 

Alex does, and this time he leans into James, so James wraps his arms around him, frowning. This is pretty much cuddling. No, this  _ is _ cuddling. He’s not against cuddling, per se, but he’s not going to be able to sleep like this. Alex doesn’t show any signs of moving, though. He sighs against James’s collarbone a few times, edges closer, gradually relaxing into James’s arms. He’s a snorer, little chuffing noises, so James knows when he’s asleep. He decides he’ll ask, tomorrow morning, about the cuddling. Then he extracts himself and stretches out so he can fall asleep, too. 

 

The next day Seager dies, and James gets the call before Alex is awake. Lewis talks about snoring and Hobson, and James finds himself thinking of Alex, smiling. He refocuses his attention on Lewis, checking that he’s okay and not spinning out about his new girlfriend/dead wife situation. He doesn’t see Alex until the case is over. He considers talking to Alex about the promotion, but he hasn’t known him long and it just feels wrong. And then Adam hangs himself. He’s supposed to be having dinner with Alex, his ‘plan’s. It gets him away from Lewis’s fuss, but he just goes for a walk, a smoke, and heads for the comfort of the church, instead.

 

James doesn’t tell Alex until it’s all over, until he’s already resigned, Lewis has already retired. Alex looks at him for a long time, then shouts. A lot. For a really really long time. James watches him pacing up and down the living room, a little miffed. They’re at James’s, Alex round for dinner. They’ve eaten, and now have wine. Alex pauses to take a sip, and his hand’s shaking. The glass slides through and hits the floor, shattering. James gets up and goes over. 

 

“Don’t step, it’s everywhere,” James says. “Let me get the dustpan and brush. I understood none of that, so you’ll have to start again.”

 

He clears up around Alex, putting his shoes back on so he doesn’t cut himself. Alex waits, bare foot, then sits heavily on the coffee table, nearly knocking the other glass to the floor. James catches it and takes it and the plates through to the kitchen, out of destruction zone. Alex is watching for him, when he comes back, face twisted up into an odd shape. 

 

“I was celebrating. I got my sergeants,” Alex says. 

 

“Really? That’s fantastic, congratulations,” James says, smile breaking over his face.He goes to sit with Alex, taking his hand and kissing the back, then turning it to kiss the palm, the wrist. 

 

“Yeah. Some celebration. Are you moving home, then? Back to your folks?”

 

“No,” James says. “Goodlord no.”

 

“You kept cancelling, recently. I don’t know why you’ve quit. You don’t talk to me. I feel stupid. I was busting my butt to get this, and it’s not even something that means anything to you anymore.”

 

“It means something to you, though, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You still want it, want the job?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then what do I have to do with it?”

 

“I don’t know. Nothing. It’s been a really, really long week. I was just excited, and then you said you resigned, and Lewis quit, and my DS is no longer mine, because I’m a DS too now, and that’s just a lot for a single day, James.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It came out of nowhere. Here I am happy about my sergeants, wondering if you’re breaking up, because I haven’t  _ seen you in weeks. _ ”

 

“Sorry. This case was… it was hell, actually.”

 

“Yeah, really? I wouldn’t know anything about that. Didn’t know you were upset about a case, did I? Did you know my case was hard? That a little boy died on my watch, on this one?”

 

“No.”

 

“No. Or that I thought my relationship was falling apart, probably because of my reaction to the case? No. No, you didn’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” James says, at a complete loss.

 

“Yeah. I know. I think I’m gonna head home, James, I feel like crying in my room for a bit.”

 

“You could,” James stops, grimacing. Then he takes a deep breath. “You could cry here, if you like. Feel a bit like it, myself, to be honest. Tell each other about these cases?”

 

“Yeah alright. Alright,” Alex says, closing his eyes. He’s breathing hard, and he’s still trembling. 

 

“Is this the first time you’ve lost someone, while working the case?” James asks, and Alex nods. “Oh, Al. Come here.”

 

“You don’t really like hugs.”

 

“You find them comforting, though, so come here.”

 

Alex sighs, but comes, and James holds him. Alex tells him about the case, mumbling against his collarbone, and James tells him about Adam. He’s a lot more together about it than Alex is, and he feels strange about that. Cold, distant. He tells Alex that, too, and about how he doesn’t like that about himself. They talk for a long time. They shift from the table to the sofa, and they’re still talking as the light dies and the room darkens. 

 

*

 

Alex talks him into going back. No, not quite. James talks himself into going back, but it’s because of Alex. Alex talking about the job, coming home late with case files, complaining about his DI. James likes the sound of her. It sounds as if she appreciates Alex. There’s also having Alex there, perched on a chair in his kitchen, talking a lot about how to distance himself from crime scenes. Looking guiltily up at James, as if James is going to judge him for putting space between himself and the things he sees. So, he goes back, but it takes him a while to find his feet as a DI, and it’s not until Lewis comes back, too, that he really feels like work is good again. 

 

“Do you want to meet Maddox?” James asks, slumped on the sofa one evening. “She wants to introduce me to her bloke.”

 

“Will it be a problem?”

 

“Not with her, and I’ll just ask her to be discrete. I thought about telling Robbie as well, but decided to wait until we’re comfortable with Hobson knowing, too.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

“You’re not regretting it? Secret relationship and all that?”

 

“No. Not really. It’ll be nice to be somewhere not your sofa though. Fucking damn it, this case is a shitter, can we drink whiskey on the back porch in our socks and smoke? I’m done here.”

 

“I haven’t got any whiskey. Or any cigarettes. Or a back porch. Is there anyone you want to tell?”

 

“You’ll meet my Dad. Soon,” Alex says. “My DI knows, I told her when we met. Not about you, just about me being queer.”

 

James starts at the word, a little surprised by it. Alex hasn’t really labelled himself as anything much, to James. He goes to queer things sometimes, around the city, and most of those are labelled ‘queer’. James frowns. His body doesn’t buck in revulsion at the word ‘queer’ like it does ‘gay’. Robbie uses it in an entirely different way, sure, a gentle misunderstanding way. Queer to Robbie is Northern, in there with ‘soft’. No one at the seminary talked about queer. 

 

“Queer,” James says. 

 

“What?”

 

“Can I use that?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, sure. If you’re comfortable with it, use it, I guess.”

 

“Alright. So Maddox? Turf Tavern, Thursday?”

 

“I’m working, you know that. My shifts are pinned to the cupboard with the coffee.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Wednesday.”

 

“Done.”

 

Maddox looks Alex up and down, then laughs, and makes friends without a qualm. James talks to Tony for a while, then he gets into a debate with Maddox when he overhears her talking to Alex about annoying DIs. Alex laughs until he’s breathing hard, leaning into James. He starts a loud conversation with Tony over them. James goes to get another round in, and Maddox follows. They end up under the Bridge of Sighs instead of in the bar, looking at the Clarendon Building and the Sheldonian. James lights a cigarette. 

 

“I’d rather we didn’t talk about this, when he’s not around,” James says. “Makes it easier to keep it quiet.”

 

“Are you ashamed?”

 

“No, not really. Well yes, but that’s not why, and it’s got nothing to do with the station. No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’m thirty eight, and not ready to… maybe, in the future. We’re moving toward that. Lewis already knows, in all but actually knowing. He thinks I’m gay as a unicorn farting rainbows, thanks to a case a while back,” James says. “He’s stubborn, never gives up an idea.”

 

“I thought you were in love with him, you know, till you mentioned Gray.”

 

“Robbie? No. Maybe, a long time ago. He’s my best friend, though. It matters to me what he thinks and feels about this.”

 

“I like Gray, he’s a solid copper, a fairly good feminist, and interesting to talk to. He’s obviously sweet on you.”

 

“I really… I really like him,” James admits. “I mean, obviously there’s…” he pauses, making a blossoming gesture. “Chemical, I dunno. A connection, obviously. But I really like him, you know?”

 

Maddox laughs at him, so he finishes his cigarette and goes to get the drinks in. She gets pork scratchings, and he stares at her, and nearly forgets what he’s ordering in. He gets Alex a packet of crisps and a glass of water, and a menu. Alex is the only one of them who’s been at work, he’s probably hungry. They meet now and then, all four of them. Sometimes Maddox comes back at the end of the day and takes over the kitchen table with the case file, and Alex usually abandons them to that until they’re onto the whiskey stage of the evening. 

 

“Will you come, on Sunday? Meet my Dad?” Alex asks, one Thursday when Maddox has been and gone, and Robbie’s rung about some epiphany that James ignored. 

 

James is half asleep, waiting for Alex to drift off because Alex is lying half on top of James, wanting closeness or something. Comfort, probably, to get up the courage to ask that. 

 

“Yes, alright. But, Al, I haven’t done this before. For a woman or a bloke. I won’t be at my best. I mean I’ll do my best, but I don’t know how I’ll react, to be honest. I’m still not particularly comfortable with my… sexuality.”

 

“Dad’s fine with it all. He’s quite religious, but he says there’s nothing in the bible that says it’s wrong, not the way he reads it.”

 

“I think I’d very much like to meet him.”

 

“He’s an arsehole in lots of ways,” Alex says. “But not that one.”

 

“Sunday. I’ll make sure to finish up on time.”

 

Of course, he doesn’t. He’s late. He rings Alex, to promise to be there as soon as he can. Robbie overhears it, so James says it’s his sister, but Robbie doesn’t believe it. James goes straight to the address Alex gives him, when they finally get done, and is greeted by a large man in a pink apron, grey in his beard, arms crossed over his chest. He glares at James, then laughs and opens the door wide enough for James to come in. 

 

“We’re just sitting down, we just about gave up on you,” he says. “Jack, Alex’s Dad.”

 

“James. He’s told me about you, sir.”

 

They shake hands, and James takes off his shoes, and his coat and jacket. He stuffs his tie in the jacket pocket and follows Jack through to the kitchen. Alex is sat on the counter, eating something. He grins at James and jumps down, pulling him into a brief embrace and chaste kiss. 

 

“Dad, did you do introductions?”

 

“Yes. Did you eat the cheese?”

 

“No,” Alex says. “I ate the carrots. Which are cooked, I drained them.”

 

They eat mashed potatoes, veg, sausages, and beans. It’s quite good, if a bit stodgy and English for James’s taste. His stomach definitely doesn’t protest. He didn’t have time for lunch. He tries to eat at a respectable speed, but he must miss that aim; Jack laughs at him and asks about the case.

 

“It’s boring, but lots of leg work. I delegated the rest to my DS. Alex will tell you about that bit of policework I’m sure.”

 

“At least I’m not your DS, I’ve heard stories from Maddox,” Alex says, smiling. 

 

Jack has a go at Alex about a few things, but otherwise he’s friendly and warm. He’s clearly fond and proud of his son. He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in his tone and his actions. He makes an effort to get to know James, and James tries to be open. When Jack mentions the bible, though, he feels himself clamming up, and he feels a shiver of unease, shame creeping through him as his thoughts turn that way. He sighs, and Alex reads it as tiredness and makes their apologies, taking him home. He lies on the sofa, with a glass of whiskey, and wonders if that will ever go away. 

 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Alex says. “There’s a church. Dad calls it the gay church.”

 

“The methodists,” James says, darkly, making Alex laugh. “Alright. Take me, next Sunday. Maybe they can beat this out of me.”

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Alex takes his mind off it all. Quite spectacularly. Robbie comments on his good mood, the next day, and Maddox can’t stop laughing about that. He does go to church, and their approach to religion is so different. It definitely helps him reconcile his faith to his life now, but it doesn’t do much for the rest. It’s so different from the seminary. He thinks about Will a lot. 

 

“James, you definitely have a cold at least, and probably something else,” Alex says, as he leaves for work three weeks later. They’re at Alex’s for once, and Alex is still entirely naked, perched on the edge of the bed. It definitely detracts from his serious face. James kisses him. “Please don’t sneeze on me again. I’ll come over, later, when I finish work, okay? I’ll bring lemsip.”

 

“I will pay you not to.”

 

“I’ll bring lemons and honey, then, and you can show me how you make that. Like you did for me, when I had that cough.”

 

“Right. Fine. I need to go.”

 

He leans in to kiss Alex again, but sneezes on him again. Alex yells and shoves him away, and James can hear him laughing all down the stairs. Robbie tells him he’s sick, too, and Laura tells him he’s definitely sick, and takes his temperature. Maddox rolls her eyes and provides him with tissues. By the time the end of the day comes, James is pretty sure that they’re all right: he definitely has a cold. Robbie drives him home and offers to come in, and James is just tired enough and out of it enough that he only waves him away, and doesn’t check he’s not being followed inside. Alex is waiting, sat on a stool at the counter (they brought the stool from Alex’s, because Alex decided it was necessary), so James drapes himself over the nice strong shoulders waiting there. 

 

“Don’t sneeze on me,” Alex says, flicking over a page of a case file. 

 

“Is that a foot? Gross,” James says. 

 

“Yeah, pretty much all that we found. Just a foot. What the hell? Is that not weird?”

 

James straightens up, yawning, and finds Robbie standing in the doorway, eyebrows up, looking far too pleased with himself. James sighs, and waves him inside. 

 

“Alex, you remember Robbie?”

 

“Obviously. You only talk about him every second. Why?”

 

“We have an audience. Robbie, do you remember Alex Gray?”

 

“Yep, DC Gray, only volunteer to work with me,” Robbie says, grinning, pouring himself a glass of wine, making himself at home.

 

“DS Gray, now, sir,” Alex says, a little weak and wide eyed. James diverts attention by sneezing six times in a row. “Bless you. Tissues on the table, I did shopping.”

 

James trudges over and finds tissues, and Lemsip, and lemons and honey, and paracetamol, and various other things. He stops paying attention, needing a tissue quite badly. He covers his face, sniffing, and sneezes again, into a handful of tissues. It turns into a series of coughs. He sits down for those, then rests his head on the table. 

 

“I’m sick,” he says. “Robbie, get me a whiskey?”

 

Robbie stays for two drinks, chatting with Alex over James’s head. Then he rubs James’s shoulders, gives one a squeeze, and tells him to take the next few days off. To avoid, in his words, starting a plague at the station. James just coughs, chest and head aching with congestion he doesn’t remember feeling this morning. 

 

“Come on, bed,” Alex says, nudging him up to stand. “I’ll look at my foot there, you can sleep. And sneeze.”

 

James likes the sound of that. He gathers the case file for Alex and follows him through the flat. He sleeps well, and the next day it feels like things are better, for the first fifteen minutes. He gets up and showers, no sneezing. Alex has the day off and is dead to the world, still. Then James starts to get dressed, and it makes him cough, and he can’t seem to stop. It wakes Alex, who huffs at him and tutts until he lies back down. 

 

“You have a fever, and a cough, you are staying in bed,” Alex says. 

 

It’s a miserable day. Alex leaves him to it, heading into work after a call, and he only rings that night. It’s about eleven and he sounds exhausted so James tells him to just go home. He comes over the next day at lunch time to check on James and sits with him for a while, listening to him cough. Then he comes to stay a few nights on the weekend, taking care of James while he recovers, shuffling around the flat in his duvet, flopping down wherever Alex is, looking for company. His fever’s gone, and his cough is better, so he goes into work on Tuesday. Maddox laughs at him, whispering something about Robbie. Robbie, who just grins at him like an idiot. Laura is acting normally, so at least Robbie’s kept it to himself. 

 

James is getting a coffee from the tea-point (not a kitchen, kitchen’s have to have doors and this doesn’t, so it’s a tea-point), when he hears a familiar sounding sneeze from down the corridor. He follows the sound and discovers Alex, in the loos, a handful of loo roll around his face, sneezing fit to bust. 

 

“I hate you,” Alex says, when he’s done. “Fuck this. I’m going home.”

 

“Go to mine,” James says. “You have keys.”

 

Alex just grunts congestedly. He’s there when James gets home, though, lying on the sofa watching Great British Bake off, tissues around his face. He’s very snuggly, sick, James discovers, and has a penchant for Lemsip that’s disgusting. He’s quite easy to care for, though. He mostly wants cuddles and to be left alone. He develops a cough, too, and it sits for about two weeks, tiring him and keeping James awake at night. Maddox drags them to the pub, when Alex is better, with Tony, and James invites Robbie along. 

 

“Can I tell Laura?” Robbie asks, two pints in. “It’s up to you, James, I can keep it to meself.”

 

“Thanks. No, I think, Alex?”

 

“Huh?” Alex looks up from a coughing fit, a little breathless. “What? Oh, Hobson. Okay, but I don’t really want it getting around much more than this. I’ll tell my DI about you, specifically, but can we leave at that, then?”

 

“Yes,” James says. 

 

“Thanks,” Robbie says. “That cough sounds bad.”

 

“It’s better,” James says, a little darkly. Alex’s chest has kept him awake for too many nights. 

 

Later, lying in bed, Alex recalls two friends who aren’t on the force who know about James, so James has to meet them, too. That’s it for a while, though. James gets a cold again, tired from late nights, and Alex retreats home, deciding that they should just stop passing it back and forth. It slows things down, and they spend less time in each other’s company for a while. 

 

*

 

“Fuck.”

 

James pauses on his way from his office to the tea-point. He’s at work, and he doesn’t usually see Alex at work. He’s doing legwork on one of Lewis’s cases, though, and is working at Maddox’s desk while Maddox is off on a long romantic weekend with Tony. He’s looking at his phone, not the casefile, though. James clears his throat and Alex looks up, then glances around. No one else is there, it’s late. 

 

“Sorry, sir,” Alex says, then grimaces. “My landlord wants to sell the house, my contract is up in four weeks.”

 

“Oh,” James says. “Well, you can move in with me, if you want.”

 

“Uh, really? I mean, really?”

 

“Yeah. You spend at least half your time there anyway, you have keys. I spend most of the time we’re not there at yours. It won’t be much of a change.”

 

“Not recently.”

 

“No. Was that bothering you?”

 

“A bit, not much. We’re at work, sir, can we talk later?”

 

“Right! Yes. I need a piss, and a coffee. And probably a pint, but another time for that one.”

 

They decide, rather than Alex moving in, to look for a place together. With a bit more space, so they can have an office space, and space away from each other if they need it. Alex does move in for a bit while they look, but they find a place in Headington that has a bit of garden, and two empty rooms they can turn into an office and a spareroom, the office big enough for two workspaces. 

 

“No casefiles in the living room,” Alex says, sat on the kitchen floor with chips and a mug of whiskey. They couldn’t find the glasses. 

 

“Or the kitchen, and I am not doing all the cooking,” James says, stealing a few of Alex’s chips, and his whiskey. 

 

“Hey!”

 

“There’s only one mug, you have to share.”

 

Alex takes the bottle instead, and drinks straight from that. 

 

“No inviting Robbie over without warning,” Alex says. “He’s still my superior, and the man who inspired me to be a copper.”

 

“Fair enough. Same with your Dad. About inviting over, I mean, not the superior inspiration.”

 

“No crucifictions on the mantlepiece. Seriously. No,” Alex says. 

 

“No shoes in the house.”

 

“Really? It’s me who wears my shoes inside?”

 

James looks down at his feet, in shoes, and Alex’s bare. 

 

“You have a point,” he admits. 

 

“Shall we have sex in all the rooms in the house? That’s thing people do.”

 

“No. Let’s finish the whiskey and pass out on the bed so we don’t have to make it properly until tomorrow,” James says. “ _ Then _ we can christen it, once it’s nicely made.”

 

Robbie gives them a set of whiskey glasses, as a housewarming present, a week later. He watches James intently the entire time he’s there. James walks him to his car at the end of the evening. 

 

“You’re happy, James?” Robbie asks. 

 

“Yeah, actually.”

 

“Right, then. Good. Now you’re all settled down and middle aged, you can come to the allotment, sometimes,” Robbie says, leaving quickly before James can protest. 

 

He goes back into the house. Alex and Maddox have the cards out and are doing shots, some kind of complex drinking version of shithead, Tony’s sitting back far away from the chaos. James joins him and they watch for a while before retreating to the living room. Alex gets horrendously drunk and passes out mostly in James’s lap, while Tony and Maddox are still there. James finds himself stroking Alex’s hair, and blinks at himself. He’s happy, though, he told Robbie the truth. Tony and Maddox leave, and James helps Alex stagger to bed, lets him curl up and cuddle, and strokes his hair on purpose, until he’s snoring. He still untangles himself and sleeps with distance between them, but when he wakes up to Alex plastered over him, humming into his ear, he’s nothing but glad. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is, I'm sure, a little OOC for Hathaway, it's the first time I've writ him and I wasn't really going for character study. 
> 
> I apologize for calling him James, but as he is focaliser, it just sort of happened. 
> 
> They seem to have paid Babou Ceesay by the word, so I mostly made Alex up. Sorry if he's not what you imagined.


End file.
